


bad company

by enamuko



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Implied Relationships, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 02:25:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13157262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enamuko/pseuds/enamuko
Summary: A new arrival in the Askrian forces draws Kiran's attention away from Narcian-- which is, of course, the biggest disaster to strike in the history of the universe. At least from Narcian's point of view.





	bad company

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JD_meister](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JD_meister/gifts).



> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to my lovely friend [@JD_Meister](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JD_meister/pseuds/JD_meister). I hope you like this silly thing!
> 
> I have not played Binding Blade or Genealogy of the Holy War, so I apologize in advance for Narcian and Arvis. My characterization of Arvis comes almost entirely from his Heroes dialogue. Narcian is a mix of that and JD's fic ["A Little Bit Closer"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12052785/chapters/27293010). I also tried to base Kiran off that fic as much as possible, though I don't know how well I did.

“Have you noticed anything… _odd_ about Kiran?”

Sharena and Alfonse share a Look, one that speaks absolute volumes. Fjorm fees as though she has stumbled upon something she isn’t meant to speak of…

“Uh… you’d have to be more specific,” Sharena says, laughing nervously. “There’s lots of weird things about Kiran!”

Fjorm can’t argue with that. The summoner often speaks of the strange world from which she hails, and the strange technologies that she is familiar with—but that is hardly what she meant.

“I was referring to her… _choice of company_.”

Sharena and Alfonse share another Look. Fjorm is sure now that this is one of those Unspoken Things that are meant to remain as such, and she almost wishes she had not said anything.

“Yes, well… I’ll admit she does have rather _odd_ tastes in friends, but… that’s not for us to judge,” Alfonse says, strained, lying through his teeth.

Fjorm gets the hint. But her eyes wander to Kiran…

The summoner stands at the far end of the meeting hall, chatting animatedly to the group of men that surrounds her. They all tower over her, but she controls the conversation with ease, and all eyes are on her.

Arvis is the one most interested in whatever it is she’s saying; there’s a crease between his eyes as he considers her words carefully. Valter is focusing on her just as heavily, but from the glimmer in his eye, Fjorm can easily guess that he’s not paying attention to what she’s saying—and she wonders if all his talk of ‘prey’ is quite as literal as some might believe.

Narcian, to no one’s surprise, is mostly paying attention to himself.

 

* * *

 

Narcian is her favorite.

That is _not_ , as he has often heard, mindless boasting on his part. She constantly seeks him out, singling him out for training exercises and putting him in the fore during battles, trusting him to lead her favored band into the most difficult and arduous encounters—Valter as his bloodthirsty second in command, Arvis cleaning up whatever remained with his cleansing fires. Sometimes they have a fourth—usually one of the royals or Commander Anna, or perhaps some new recruit that needed to be shown the ropes. But for the most part it’s just the four of them—the three of them, and their beloved summoner who greets them so warmly whenever they return triumphant from the latest skirmish against Embla and who fusses over their wellbeing when they are forced to make a _tactical retreat_ that is most certainly _not_ the same as being defeated.

She favors them all, treating them with the devotion befitting people of their station, though she has a tendency towards snark that is less than ideal—when the others question her taste in companionship, she politely rebukes them and defends their honor. But Narcian is her favorite, and he _knows_ he is her favorite. She shares stories with him from her home world that she tells no one else, allows him to come and go freely from her quarters—sometimes even allows him to sleep in her bed!

He is her favorite—and why shouldn’t he be? He’s been with her the longest, and he’s by far the most talented—not to mention the most beautiful.

It’s only natural.

 

* * *

 

There is a static in the air when Narcian comes down for breakfast.

The castle and garrison has always been a busy place, what with there being so many ‘heroes’ living together. But the buzz that surrounds them now is familiar—the energy that comes from a new arrival!

The mess hall is relatively empty, though for once he isn’t late; aside from the usual disinterested stragglers, he finds his ‘companions’ sitting at their usual table. He gathers his morning meal and joins them.

“ _There_ you are.” Arvis sniffs like Narcian’s absence has been of _great_ personal offence to him—as well it should be, so Narcian forgives his tone. (He _is_ royalty, after all… and never fails to remind them of that fact.)

Valter glares at him from across the table. He looks upset, and rather unstable to boot—enough so that Narcian briefly debates picking up his food and moving to another table. But if Valter hasn’t run him through yet, he doubts it will happen now.

“So, who’s turned up this time?” he asks, ignoring Valter’s death glares and Arvis’ attitude. He hopes it’s no one he knows—that Etrurian general was bad enough…

“A tactician, from some place called ‘Nohr’.” Arvis sips his tea as he regards Narcian with a haughty expression, as if he should know this already.

“The same country as Lady Camilla and Lord Leo?” he asks, just to show off that _he knows things, too_. Arvis is the newest member of their group, after all, and doesn’t enjoy the familiarity with Kiran that he has! She tells him things she would tell no one else…

Arvis ignores him as though the answer were obvious, though Narcian feels a smug sense of satisfaction in knowing that he had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. Even an emperor cannot compare to his greatness, after all!

“There was a battle this morning. Kiran sent the secondaries out, and came back with him.”

And so explains Valter’s mood—denied the feast of battle that he so desperately craves. He’s all but snarling as he cuts into his food with more enthusiasm than breakfast demands! For a moment, Narcian wonders if perhaps he was the reason they were not dispatched—perhaps Kiran could not bear to wake him from a lovely slumber. But the secondaries, as they call them—they are the team that Kiran sends for especially difficult situations.

(Not because they are in any way superior, she has assured him countless times—it’s simply a tactical matter, with their team having two wyvern riders and a rather _slow_ mage. And why would she ever want to risk his life in a meaningless skirmish when there are so many other heroes willing to do so?)

“So one of us, then.”

Most heroes Kiran simply summoned with that weapon of hers, drawing them from their own worlds with the power of those orbs she was so intent on collecting. But the three of them—and a few others—had been set upon Kiran’s army and the Askrians by Emblian forces, and only after being defeated had joined Kiran. He had joined because the Emblians viewed him as a tool, and no one _used_ the great Narcian—he’s sure the others have their reasons, too, but he’s never bothered to ask.

For Kiran to have sent out the secondaries and returned with a new recruit, they must be cut from the same cloth—though not so desirable a cut as Narcian himself, of course! He wonders if perhaps she has found the fourth member of their ‘team’, or if they will simply be another addition to the legion of heroes who sit around the castle, never deemed important enough to be sent into the battlefield except in very specific circumstances.

Of course, he doesn’t wonder long. Because if something important is to happen, he’ll be the first to know—Kiran won’t keep anything from _him_!

 

* * *

 

“His name is Iago.”

Camilla sounds like she’d rather be swallowing poison than say his name. She drinks her tea and says nothing.

Narcian feels rather the same.

“He was my father’s tactician. I thought he was dead, but… I suppose this world can be full of surprises.”

At first, things seemed normal. The excitement and mystery surrounding a new arrival in the army quickly died down as people went back to their daily drudgery. But something strange was going on…

“To be honest, I’m rather surprised our little Kiran was so drawn to him. Though I suppose you and the rest of her favorites should have been a good clue.”

‘Drawn to him’, yes… like a moth to flame. Narcian’s tea cup quivered with rage as he took a long, venomous sip.

Kiran seemed to just… disappear. Where he had once spent most of his day in her presence, now he could hardly find her. She stopped calling on him for training exercises, seeming to busy herself with getting the ‘new fellow’ up to speed, alongside other recruits that she hand-picked to compliment his skills. There were Talks, of course, as there often were among so many people in such close quarters—Talks that this ‘Iago’ character was to be her new favorite.

Such slander! Narcian had been quick to tell them off for spreading such filthy lies. _He_ was her favorite, he’d been quick to remind them, and so it would stay!

“If there’s anything that surprises me more, it must be the fact that you wanted to have tea with me.” Camilla chuckles. “You must really be desperate. I should have known you would be the jealous type when it comes to our little Kiran.”

“I am no such thing!” Under other circumstances he might have slammed his teacup on the table indignantly, but this tea set was a gift from Kiran—hand painted, what she calls a clumsy first effort at painting porcelain, but which he finds just as beautiful as himself. Any plebeian tea set he would not have wasted a second thought on, but a priceless gift from Kiran deserves his best care—so instead he merely slams an open palm on the table.

“Oh? Then why so interested in Iago, darling?” Camilla titters behind her hand. Narcian _knows_ she is laughing at him, and normally he would punish such behaviour without a second thought—but Kiran would be angered by such senseless violence against a comrade in arms. She always lectures Valter and Peri on such things, and expects better from him.

(Not to mention the two women who follow Camilla like dogs, who would assuredly strike him down in a most cowardly fashion for daring to incite violence against their precious princess. The redhead scowls at him from the opposite side of the room, and he does not see the blue-haired wyvern rider—and he suspects that is very much on purpose.)

“I only worry for Kiran’s safety, spending her time around such a shady character,” he replies with a huff. “As her favored soldier and closest confident I, Narcian, must ensure that she keeps good company and is in no danger from within her own ranks!”

“Valter and Arvis aren’t threats, then?” Now Camilla has her chin rested on her folded hands as she leans forward. He can tell she enjoys this, revelling in his annoyance, but he’s not going to play her little game!

“Valter and Arvis… _admire_ her, in their own ways.” It pains him to say out loud, but then, who wouldn’t? Camilla clearly _admires_ her greatly as well, so it should come as no surprise to the Nohrian princess. “And with Narcian as their captain, their _leader_ , they would never dare harm a hair on her head for fear of my reprisal.”

“If you say so, Narcian.” Camilla sighs and leans back, taking another sip of her tea. “Perhaps you’re right to worry about Kiran… Iago is not a nice man. But I think she can handle herself. She’s handled the three of you with ease all this time, after all; she practically has the three of you eating out of the palm of her hand!”

“Narcian does no such thing!” Completely against his will, Narcian feels his face and neck heating up with a rather shameful reddening—out of anger, not embarrassment, of course! “If anything, _she_ is the one eating out of _my_ hand!”

“You keep telling yourself that, darling.”

 

* * *

 

If someone were to ask Kiran what first drew her to him, she’s not sure she would be able to put it into words.

Of course, she’s always had this strange draw towards people the others would call ‘scoundrels’… the sort of people who are greeted with venom and bile from those who hail from the same worlds. ‘Villains’, some might call them…

But with him, it’s different. There’s just… _something_ , the moment she lays her eyes on him, that tells her he’s special.

He integrates into their ranks rather well, which surprises her. He strikes her as a prideful man, but like the others, he takes defeat with surprisingly good grace—perhaps because, also like the others, he doesn’t appreciate being a pawn in the Emblian’s games. Vengeance is so often the strongest motivator she can find…

“So. You are this army’s tactician?” he asks her shortly afterwards, and everything seems to snowball from there.

There is always a certain level of excitement that she feels when she brings a new recruit into their army, especially one who comes as the result of a long and arduous battle. When she discovers he’s a skilled mage, that excitement only increases. But it’s more than that.

At first, it’s just the training drills; she runs them personally, wanting to see what he’s capable of. Then come the tactical sessions. Like when both Robins first joined the army, she’s quick to take advantage of his knowledge and experience in the field, given that she has none outside of what she’s already accomplished. They start taking those tactical sessions over tea, then with their meals in the comfort and privacy of the library.

Soon she finds herself spending more time with Iago than alone.

“Something is bothering you,” Iago says as she pores over tactical plans with him. He doesn’t say it with any particular concern, just a simple observation, and yet it makes her smile as she ducks her head and buries her face in her book.

“It’s nothing,” she replies. “Nothing at all.”

 

* * *

 

“This is Iago. He’s going to be joining the team as of today.”

Iago looks coolly over the three men Kiran is presenting him to. One of them stares coolly back, one of them looks at him like someone might look at a juicy steak, and one of them bristles at him like an angry cat.

“Charmed,” he says in a voice meant to convey precisely the opposite.

“Likewise,” the redhead says in precisely the same tone.

Iago can already tell they’re not going to get along.

“I know this might be an adjustment,” Kiran says, her tone gentle and placating. “But I think it’ll work out really well. Having another mage on the team will be…”

She continues talking, but her words fall on deaf ears. There’s a Moment happening as his new ‘teammates’ judge him on some scale he cannot hope to understand, even if he wanted to. Kiran doesn’t notice; in fact, she stops only because the redhead that seems to oversee this army appears and calls her to attention.

“You four play nice!” she says, and laughs at her own teasing. “Get to know each other. I’ll be back as soon as I can to run some training drills…”

They all follow her with their gazes as she jogs out of the room, off to whatever task is being doled out to her. The tactician’s life is rarely an idle one—Iago understands that all too well…

With Kiran out of the room, the tension ramps up so quickly it’s practically fogging up the place. Iago expects the mouthy redhead to be the one to step forward and confront him, but instead it’s the bristling blond, whose chest swells up and shoulders go back as he tries to make himself look as big and intimidating as possible.

(Since he’s not especially big to begin with, it doesn’t do much.)

“So, you’re the new recruit.”

He turns his nose up at him, and Iago rolls his eyes. Typical noble arrogance…

“So it seems,” he drawls. “And _you_ are…?”

“ _I_ am General Narcian,” he says sternly, which is completely ruined by the haughty tone of his voice. “The leader of this team. And while Kiran may be wiling to trust you, _I_ most certainly am not!”

“I see.” Iago looks from this ‘Narcian’ fellow to his companions, looking to see if they were going to back him up; no point in rocking the boat, getting himself into unnecessary trouble. But the redhead is all but rolling his eyes, while the blue haired one has completely lost interest, except to occasionally look over like he’s expecting something. “So you don’t trust her judgement, then?”

That has exactly the desired effect; Narcian sputters as he rapidly turns a brilliant shade of red that matches his armor.

“You—you!” He jabs a finger right into Iago’s chest, which Iago simply stares at before brushing it away. “If you do anything to harm her, you’ll… you’ll regret it!”

“How _original_.” Iago rolls his eyes. “If I tell you I have no intentions of harming Kiran, will you go away? There, that’s a good boy.”

Narcian turns even redder. He tries to follow up, but he doesn’t form any words, just sputters. He looks to the other two for backup, but neither of them is interested; the redhead even seems _amused_ by the corner he’s backed himself into. Narcian grumbles and turns away, flipping his hair and stalking off as if he’s _choosing_ to leave, rather than being driven off by a superior intellect.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him quite so… _himself_.” The redhead chuckles and steps forward, hand folded under his chin. “I… am Emperor Arvis. But if we’re going to be serving on the same team, you may simply call me Arvis.”

“I’ll do that.” Iago resists the urge to roll his eyes. Making _too_ many enemies may be bad for his health… “And the… _hungry_ looking fellow?”

“General Valter. He and Narcian make up the aerial force of our team; they’re both wyvern riders.” Arvis puts a hand on his back, between his shoulders, and guides him. There’s a… _familiar_ air about him, something about his demeanor that Iago finds to be almost a comfort. Perhaps it’s just the fact that he seems to have a _brain_ , unlike Narcian or any of the other plebs he’s encountered so far… “You’ll get used to Narcian making a fool of himself, he does that rather a lot. But he _is_ Kiran’s favorite, for whatever reason, so it’s best to just ignore his buffoonery.”

Valter falls into step behind them, _looming_ even though his height is nothing extraordinary compared to their own… there’s just something about his predatory gaze and the barely contained violence in his posture.

“Really?” he says, sounding bored even to himself. “She never mentioned him.”

 

* * *

 

_“I’m sorry, Narcian… I’ve just been so busy with these new formations, making sure Iago gets up to speed… I promise we’ll spend some time together later, okay? Maybe I’ll even start on that portrait you’re always hounding me for…”_

Her placations still ring in Narcian’s ears, making him angrier than he could have ever imagined. His only consolation is that he hasn’t seen her with _that man_ , either…

He doesn’t even bother trying to keep to everyone else’s schedule any longer. To Hell with them all; if Kiran isn’t going to bother with him, he’s not going to bother with them! He doesn’t go to training sessions, takes his meals when he damn well pleases…

(He tries to tell himself it doesn’t bother him that no one’s seemed to notice yet, or if they have, haven’t cared enough to say anything.)

It just so happens that, _coincidentally_ , he’s hungry at the same time as lunch is being served—and perhaps he’s tired of stale bread and cold food, and so what? When he arrives at the mess hall, though… what he sees makes his blood boil.

Iago is sitting at the team table, casual as can be. He’s sharing a story with Valter and Arvis, who both chuckle darkly at it. There’s a sense of ease between them, like kindred souls… the sort of ease it took him _months_ to build with them, as they refused to take him seriously! And this scoundrel had managed it in mere _days_!

Part of him wants to march right up to them and demand an explanation—but no, no. That would be too good for them. Better to deny them the glory of his presence, allow them to stew in his absence for a while!

He gathers his food, giving them a wide berth, but they don’t even seem to notice him—and so he makes sure to walk right past them on his return. Valter looks up, but his eyes gloss over him like a piece of furniture as he turns his attention back to the story Arvis is now telling. Not that Narcian cares! Valter had never had eyes for anything but Princess Eirika, Kiran, and his next target on the battlefield.

(If he tells himself he doesn’t care at all often enough, perhaps it will be true.)

He looks around for somewhere else to sit, and catches the eye of Lady Camilla. She smiles and waves to him like they’ve been friends for years.

He grumbles and moves to join her—as if he has any other choice. He always must be careful of who he spends his time with, considering there are several people in the army who would love to see him dead…

“So. How goes the Iago matter?” Camilla folds her hands under her chin as Narcian sits across from her. Her younger brother, sitting beside her and poking disinterestedly at his own good, glares daggers at him and says nothing.

“You have eyes, don’t you?” he huffs, and digs into his food.

Camilla looks over to where Iago is sitting with _his_ team, and shakes her head.

“Honestly… a man like that. Though I suppose at least one person here feels the same about each one of you.”

“I’m surprised to see him listening to someone other than Father,” Leo adds, only addressing Camilla, as though Narcian is nothing but window dressing. “He was always such a brown noser…”

“Kiran does seem to have a way with rather… _difficult_ men.” Camilla laughs demurely. “Isn’t that right, Narcian?”

He ignores her and her teasing; she’s simply trying to get a rise out of him, and if he ignores her, surely she’ll tire of such infantile games. He tries to focus entirely on his meal, but he finds his eyes straying over towards his usual table…

“You know, as much as it pains me to say it, he might well be Kiran’s new favorite.”

His head snaps back to her at that, his face _burning_ with anger. He jabs his fork in her face.

“Slander! You have no idea what you’re talking about!” He slams his fist back down on the table, but Camilla doesn’t look at all fazed.

“Well, perhaps you’re right. I just assumed, considering how much time they’ve been spending together… but perhaps Kiran is simply exploring her options. Considering her current ‘favorite’ always seems to be taking her for granted… I certainly wouldn’t blame her.”

“You—how dare you!” He stands up and slams his fists on the table, making the dinnerware rattle. Still Camilla looks unbothered; she simply raises an eyebrow at him, rather calmly.

“Narcian, darling, you’re making a scene,” she says like a patient mother, and it’s only his dignity that keeps him from flipping the table.

“I don’t need to sit here and listen to you speak of Kiran _or_ I, Narcian, that way!” He snatches up his plate and carries it away. If he’s going to be subjected to such treatment, better to eat alone in his quarters!

The halls are empty and silent—the kind of silence that make his thoughts far too loud. His anger simmers, stews, but doesn’t dissipate—if anything, he feels even angrier! Less explosive, perhaps, but there’s a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He grumbles to himself—

—and is so focused on that, he doesn’t notice Kiran until the two have walked right into each other.

They both bounce off each other and fall flat on their behinds. Narcian’s food sails out of his hands and flies through the air, practically in slow motion, until it lands right on Kiran’s head.

He claps his hand over his mouth—mostly to keep from laughing. Potatoes drip from the plate, down her hair, and right into her lap. Kiran makes a noise of disgust as he tosses the plate off her head and starts wiping food out of her hair.

“You know, when I said I would see you later, I didn’t think it would be like this,” she laughs, and the sound is so sweet he could almost forgive her for all of this nonsense—but no. His anger wells up quickly. “What’s the rush?”

“No rush,” he says curtly as he gets to his feet. He doesn’t offer Kiran a hand up, but she gets up on her own easily enough, not even noticing.

“Just thinking hard about something, then?”

“You could say that.”

“...is something wrong, Narcian?”

He looks at her then. She has her head tilted ever so slightly, and there’s a crease in her forehead from her frown as she considers the possibility. He crosses his arms and turns away.

“I suppose that’s for you to decide,” he says bitterly.

“Is this about Iago?” she asks, and her bluntness and ability to cut right to the heart of the problem catches him off guard.

“…perhaps.”

She giggles. He whips his head back towards her, frowning intensely, and she slaps her hand over her mouth.

“Sorry—sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just… Camilla mentioned something about that earlier, and I told her there was no way you could be jealous. After all… you’re the Great Narcian, aren’t you?”

“I—I am, yes.”

“And who could I ever like more than you?”

“No one! Unless you hit your head and had amnesia!”

She steps forward. She’s covered in potatoes and gravy; no doubt her clothes will be the bane of the servants, when they try to clean them later. She looks absolutely ridiculous. And yet, when she puts her hand on his chest, all he sees is perfection—perfection that nears his own.

“You’re still my favorite, Narcian,” she says, patting him on the chest. “I’m sorry for ignoring you. I guess I just got a little carried away. I was so excited to find the final member of our team, and it was nice having another tactician around to talk to… but Iago’s not going to replace you!”

He feels like a massive weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He practically wants to cry out at hearing the words spoken aloud—though he of course had no doubts from the beginning, because who could pick that drab mage over the likes of _him_? That would all be very undignified, of course—so he just smirks like he knew it all along, and flips his hair expertly.

“Of course he isn’t. You would need ten of him to even approach the likes of me,” he says firmly, and Kiran rolls her eyes. (He’ll forgive her, this time.)

“Look, I need to go clean myself up,” she says, gesturing to the food all over her. “But after that… why not come by my quarters, so I can get started on that portrait you wanted? We can catch up on what’s been happening these past few days…”

He wants to jump on the opportunity, but not wanting to look desperate, he hems and haws as though he has to consider all of his options. Finally, he shrugs.

“I suppose that sounds pleasant enough,” he says, and Kiran chuckles, and suddenly… everything is as it should be again.

 

* * *

 

“…And I swear if I had to spend one minute more with that shaved ape, I would have lost my mind.”

Arvis chuckles in both amusement and sympathy, and his hand comes to rest on Iago’s shoulder as they walk to the training grounds together as per usual. At the start of his time in this army, Iago had thought of training as nothing more than a nuisance—he still feels much the same, but in Arvis’ company it does not feel like the drain it is. Where Kiran had made those first few days bearable, Arvis has taken up her mantle.

When they arrive at the training grounds, Valter is already there, tending to his wyvern; the massive beast is outfitted for drills and all but purring as Valter rubs him under the chin.

Valter isn’t the only one there; alongside his wyvern is a smaller, spinier red wyvern done up in gilded and ostentatious armor. Narcian is standing alongside his beast, talking to it with gusto—admiring the sound of his own voice, no doubt.

“Look who’s finally decided to grace us with his presence,” he murmurs to Arvis, and Arvis chuckles again, patting him on the shoulder.

“Now, now. Narcian may have an ego to rival the rest of the army put together, but he’s a competent soldier.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Well, looks like everyone’s here.”

Kiran appears from behind one of the wyverns, holding a paper that she keeps consulting and occasionally sketching on.

“Valter, get into this position on the far side of the field,” she instructs, showing him the paper for direction. “Narcian, you’re going to be on the opposite end. Arvis? Iago? Let me show you the map…”

As she steps forward to show off her tactical illustrations and give them close directions, Iago and Narcian lock eyes over her head. He raises an eyebrow at their so-called captain, daring him to say anything like their last encounter…

But Narcian simply flips his hair in a pouty, child-like huff and turns away, skillfully climbing aboard his mount and hefting his axe.

Iago doesn’t sigh; he simply turns his attention back to Kiran and her sketches. He knows how to pick his battles…

 _Well,_ he thinks, looking down at Kiran and the exuberance with which she shows off her tactical knowledge, a brilliant glimmer in her eye. _At least for now…_


End file.
